Jigsaw's games and puzzles
by crowley's sex demon
Summary: After surviving a trap, side by side, Jigsaw teaches me and Amanda to follow in his footsteps. All I do is help John until I meet another survivor of a Jigsaw trap. When he joins the three of us, things tense up. But who do I choose to follow? O/C & Hoffman
1. My Trap

Opening my eyes, I felt drowsy and looked around the dark room.  
'Where am I? How did I get here?' I thought to myself. The last thing I remember was walking home in the dark. BIG MISTAKE I know.  
I tried to move and felt a sharp sting on both arms. I looked down to see razors pinning my arms down on both sides.  
"Hello? Can anybody hear me?! Help!" I screamed and shouted.  
I heard a flicker and a light flashed from the corner of the room, showing a puppet.  
'Oh shit, Jigsaw,' I thought.

**"Hello Casey, I want to play a game. You don't know me but I know you. I know your whole life you have been abused. Is that why you choose not to live it? To try again and again to take the easy way out? You starve your body of food; you drag knives and razors across your wrist and take all the drugs you can get your hands on. Look to the mirror in front of you and se the mess you've made. I do not blame you but I do call you unworthy of the life you possess. Today, you have to prove to yourself that there is more to life than drugs and knives. If you can do that, then you can go free. All you have to do is pull your arms and legs free of the razors that hold them in place and walk to the door. You will find the key in that jar of acid by the door. But be careful, this room has sight and sound and for every drop of blood that hits the floor, one minute will be taken away. The things you use to take away your pain may take away your life. You have 10 minutes. Let the game begin!"**

"Oh shit, oh shit," I said, aloud.  
I tired to pull my arms but, again, the sting of the razor hurt too much.  
"He's right, if I can cut myself to pieces then I can get out of this easily enough," I took a deep breath and counted to three.  
A three, I pulled quick and fast, like pulling off a plaster.  
"Agh!" I screamed.  
My arms pulled free, blood poured out of the wounds and as they hit the floor, I looked at the clock.  
8 minutes turned into 6 minutes.

For a second time, I counted to three and stood up, pushing forwards.  
I fell on the floor, crying in pain.  
5. 4. 3.  
"Shit, shit!"  
I tried to run as fast as I could through the pain in my thighs, my hands pressing against them, trying to stop the blood from dripping onto the floor. I couldn't stop my arms from dripping though, and I lost another minute.  
I got to the jar of acid and tired to think of what to do; I was in shorts in and a strap top and got an idea.  
I ripped as big a part off my top as possible and wrapped my hand in it.  
I clenched my fist and thrust my hand into the acid.  
It didn't take long to burn through the material and taint the acid with my blood.  
1 minute and 30 seconds.  
I tried again two more times and when the clock reached 45 seconds, I knew I had to get the key or die.  
I plunged my hand into the jar and scraped the bottom for the key, trying to ignore the burning of my melting flesh.  
"Yes!" I cried when I got the key and switched it to my left hand, fumbling with the lock.  
10 seconds. 5 seconds.  
3 seconds from the end, the lock clicked and the door swung open.  
I hit the fresh air and fell to my knees, breathing it in with so much appreciation but, with the loss of blood, I suddenly got woozy and everything went black as I passed out.  
Again, I woke up in a room I didn't recognise, only this time I was laid on a bed.  
"Hello?" I started to panic. "Is anyone there?"  
"You're awake," a male voice said, as a person appeared from the next room. "Congratulations on having the strength to stay alive."  
As he came into the light, I recognised his familiar face.  
"You. You're Jill's ex-husband," I said, referring to my aunt.  
The oldish man in front of me, John, was still technically my uncle.  
"I'm not just your aunt's ex-husband. I am the person the newspapers have labelled as Jigsaw. And I have a proposition for you."


	2. Jigsaw's Proposition

"What do you mean a proposition? You want me to help you kill people?" I gasped. "I don't think I can do that."  
"No, I do not kill my victims, I've never killed anyone. It they do not have the survival instinct then they kill themselves. And there is to be no emotions involved."  
John sat down on the end of the bed.  
"Can you imagine how it feels to have someone to tell you you're dying? You look at things differently, smell things differently. You saviour everything, be it a glass of water or a walk in the park. Most people don't have the luxury of knowing when the clock is going to go off. And that's what keeps them living their lives. Your clock nearly stopped; you have the survival instinct and now you have your whole live ahead of you, doesn't it mean so much more to you?"  
I thought about what John was saying. He was right; I nearly died and now that I was alive, did I really want to waste the rest of my life hurting myself, putting myself in death's path?  
John helped me appreciate my life and he was offering me the chance to help give someone else that opportunity. Giving me the choice of helping someone the way he helped me.  
I can't lie. It was extremely tempting.  
"Can I have some time to think about it?"  
"Absolutely. I don't suggest getting out of bed until you have started healing anyway."  
I nodded. "John."  
"Yes?"  
"You said about having someone tell you that you're dying. What's wrong with you?" I asked.  
"I have a terminal and inoperable brain tumor. I tried to kill myself by driving my car off a cliff but survived. I can survive a car crash but not cancer. It made me appreciate what little time I had left. That's what started me in my games; those who do not appreciate their lives or others, I want to give them a choice to choose and learn to love life like I, and now you, have," John explained.  
I nodded and laid my head back to rest.

After a week of thinking, I gave my answer.  
"John, I accept your offer."  
"Thank you, I will teach you all you need to know. I need someone to carry on my work after I . . ." John paused and I nodded and answered, "I understand."  
"I am very happy that you have accepted because I have a . . .project coming . . .up. It will be your first time experiencing a test. Her name is Amanda and she is a drug addict, in need of rescuing, and in need of the rehabilitation that I have succeeded in giving you."  
I nodded, not knowing what to say.  
"Lets go and get Amanda."


	3. Amanda

John came back to the warehouse he used for his traps, carrying a girl with brown hair, wearing a skirt, stockings boots, etc.  
He placed the girl in the chair and handed me some paint.  
"Paint a question mark on the stomach of the man," he instructed, referring to the unconscious body lying on the floor.  
I watched John hook Amanda up to the chair and the metal mask.  
I looked away, the mask making me uncomfortable, and headed to the guy on the floor.  
"Remember, the heart cannot be involved. Your emotions can never get the better of you," John ordered.  
After everything was set up and we left, John shut the door and led me round the corner to where there was a peephole to watch the test play out.

Amanda POV

After I escaped the trap, I cleaned myself up and headed to the police.  
After retelling my story so many times, I was called back to the station to tell it one more time.  
Detective Tapp sat in front of me. "Amanda, in your own time, tell me the first thing you remember."  
"I woke up. All I could taste was blood. And metal." I replied and my memory flashed back.  
I was tied to a chair, my wrists bound to the arms of the chair. I pulled against the bonds, moaning loudly but was unable to speak. I remember trying to struggle some more and lift my head, despite the heavy contraption on it.  
The TV in the corner switched itself on, startling me, and at first all I could see was static, until a few moments later, when a frightening image of a demented-like clown puppet appeared.  
I remembered every word the puppet said.

"**Hello Amanda. You don't know me, but I know you. I want to play a game. Here's what happens if you lose. The device you are wearing is hooked into your upper and lower jaw. When the timer in the back goes off, your mouth will be permanently ripped open. Think of it like a reverse bear trap. Here, I'll show you. There is only one key to open the device. It's in the stomach of your dead cellmate. Look around Amanda. Know that I'm not lying. Better hurry up. Live or die, make your choice."**

"And then I saw the body," I told Detective Tapp.  
I remember having to stab the body and dig through his stomach for the key. I will never forget it, it was the worse thing I had ever done. I hoped I never had to anything like that again.  
"What happened after you took it off?" The Detective asked.  
Another flashback of the puppet occurred.

"**Congratulations. You are still alive. Most people are so ungrateful to be alive. But not you. Not anymore."**

"You are, in fact, a drug addict, isn't that right?" Detective Tapp asked me, bringing me back to the present.  
I nodded, not looking away from my feet.  
"Do you think that is why he picked you?"  
I stifled a sob and nodded.  
"Are you grateful, Mandy?"  
Finally, I lifted my head and looked at him.  
"He . . .he helped me," I said softly.  
"Thank you Mandy," Detective Tapp rubbed my hand and allowed me to go.

My POV

John came into the room I was in and Amanda followed him.  
"Sherrie, I would like to introduce you to Amanda."  
"Hi," I looked up.  
"Hey," she said quietly.  
John turned and left and Amanda sat down next to me.  
"You survived a test?"  
"Yeah," I answered.  
"Why did he choose you?"  
"I wasn't being very good to myself," I replied and lifted up a sleeve to show her the scars beneath the newest wounds from the game. "Has John spoken to you?"  
"Yeah, I agreed. He's already helped me more than I can say but I said I would help him if he kept helping me."  
"That's why he does this, to help people," I told her.  
"He's going to die, isn't he?"  
"Eventually."  
"Then we should both help him," Amanda said.  
"That's what we've both agreed to do," I nodded**.**


	4. Detective Hoffman

A week after the trap with Amanda, I dropped a newspaper in front of John.  
"What's this?" He asked.  
"Read it," I instructed.  
I'd just dropped a newspaper in front of him that had a clip in it about a Detective Hoffman's sister getting justice. It appeared his sister was killed by her ex-boyfriend and, after being in jail for a year, he was killed in a Jigsaw trap. The thing was, me and John knew we hadn't put anyone called Seth Baxter into a trap.  
"Ah yes, I am aware of him. I will take care of this," John told me.  
"How?"  
"Just leave it to me."  
I nodded and did what John said; I left him to it.

An hour later, John was dressed in a suit and left to go and get the detective.

When John came back and had the detective sat in the chair, I hid in the corner of the room in the dark, but I still had a clear view of Hoffman.  
Sitting in the dark, I kept thinking to myself that he was really good looking, but every time I thought that, John's words rang in my head.  
'_The heart cannot be involved.'_

While watching, I worked hard on burying the crush that was developing; I had to get over it.  
The detective groaned as he started to wake up.  
"Where am I? What's going on?"  
"You know why you're here, don't you? They say imitation is the sincerest for of flattery. But I find it somewhat . . .distasteful. To be given credit for work that's not mine."  
John held up the newspaper I gave him.  
"Especially inferior work. Like you, I know what it's like to lose family. And I know what it's like to be able not to protect loved ones. It's a powerless feeling."  
Hoffman tried to move his wrists away from the arms of the chair and the ropes linked to the trigger of the shotgun, which was propped underneath him, aimed under his chin, strained.  
"Oh I wouldn't do that," John told him.  
John got a mirror from behind him and moved it in front of the detective, so he could see himself and why he shouldn't move.  
"What do you see? Vengeance can change a person. Make you into something you thought you were never capable of being. But, unlike you, I've never killed anyone. I give people a chance."  
"You call this a chance?" The detective cried.  
"We'll see. Our game's just begun."  
"Our game? You don't even know me!"  
'He looks sexy when he's angry,' I thought to myself and shook my head. 'Stop it!'  
John started speaking again and I carried on listening.  
"No, I know you. I've followed you as you've pursued me. I know you. I know about your sister, I know how you cared for her. I know that she was your only family. You sit in bars until closing. You drink so you can sleep."  
'I'll help him sleep,' I thought to myself.  
"You stagger to your car and then you start it all over again the next day. And I discovered what you do for recreation. You can dispense justice and give people a chance to value their lives in the same moment. And by the way, the blade on your pendulum was inferior. If you want a true edge," John picked up a straight razor. "You have to use tempered steel. Tempering is better for the long haul. You in this for the long haul, Detective?"  
I paid attention to John, calling him detective, rather than Mark or Hoffman.  
"I've been a cop for 20 years. Is that long enough for you?" The detective spat back.  
"Then you and I both know the statistics for repeat offenders in this city. 67.5% of criminals are back in prison within three years."  
John really was giving him a lecture.  
"What do you want from me?!" The detective screamed.  
"So, you might look at what you did to Seth as a kind of public service."  
"She was my only family. He didn't deserve a chance! He was an animal!" He shouted, loudly.  
I couldn't help but feel sorry for him.  
"EVERYBODY deserves a chance!" John shouted back.  
While I'd known him, I'd never heard John shout and I shifted, a little wearily.  
"You didn't see the blood! You didn't see what he fucking did to her!"  
The detective looked really upset and it caused a lump in my throat.  
"Killing is DISTASTEFUL . . .to me." John leant forward, closer, and whispered, "there is a better, more efficient way."  
John grabbed a chair, sat down and put his finger on the trigger.  
I bit my lip. 'The heart must not be involved,' John's words bounced around my brain again.  
"What do you see? LOOK! What do you see?" John ordered the detective to look into the mirror.  
"Tell me what you want!" He shouted, but sounded as if he was wearing down.  
"I want to know if you have what it takes to survive."  
'Please show us you've got what it takes,' I urged him on in my head. 'Come on, detective.'  
The detective struggled and shifted until the rope pulled John's finger and the trigger. There seemed to be no bullets in the rifle so it did nothing, just made an empty click sound.  
"Fuck you! Fuck you!" The detective almost sounded like he was crying.  
"You see. It's a different method I'm talking about. If a subject survives my method, he or she is instantly rehabilitated. Now, do you want a chance?" John asked.  
The detective stayed quiet but nodded.  
"You want a chance? I'll give you a chance." John got up from the chair and looked in the mirror. "I am the man you call "Jigsaw." It's your duty to bring me in. But I know who you are. And I know what you've done."  
Something inside told me the detective wouldn't take John in to custody.  
"So, this is blackmail?" He asked.  
"No, no, no, no, no. This is redemption." John cut the detectives restraints with the razor. "I'm just giving you option. That's all. Now, you can arrest me, but doing so, your life ends as you know it."  
This all sounded oh so familiar to me.  
"Or you could explore . . .the method of rehabilitation that'll permit you to sleep at night."  
John removed the shotgun.  
The detective looked at the razor lying on the table. "Or I could kill you right now."  
"But you're not a true killer. That's your dilemma. The information I have on you is exactly where it needs to be. And it will be released in the event of my disappearance."  
When John said this, it got my attention. What was this information? Where was it and who had it?  
"They'll never believe your word over mine." The detective got up, walked over to the table and picked up the razor.  
"You're willing to take that risk? The risk of ruining your own life in order to protect a corrupt legal system . . .that puts murderers back on the streets?"  
John opened the shotgun to show the detective that it was actually indeed loaded. My mouth fell open.  
"How would your sister feel? We're at a crossroads, detective. Make your choice."  
"How do you know this . . .rehabilitation works?"  
"You can come out now," John called out, obviously to me.  
I took a deep breath, straightened myself out and walked out from the dark.


End file.
